


Not Making Sense in Silence

by yuffiehighwind



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-01
Updated: 2002-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Dent has a choice to make. Ford makes it difficult to choose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Making Sense in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place near the end of So Long and Thanks for All the Fish. Book-verse.

All Ford had done the past three days was watch movies he pilfered from Earth. He didn't talk to me, he didn't say a word for three days. Walking by his room it made me feel nostalgic for the days back when we were on the Heart of Gold. That was years ago. Maybe longer. When you spend four years living in a cave on prehistoric Earth going insane, your sense of time gets "out of whack," so to speak. I had no idea what a whack was, but it gets out somehow and then you're never the same again.

I walked by Fenchurch's room and I was filled with butterflies flapping in my stomach just _thinking_  about her lying there asleep. I thought of her face, her eyes, the day we met, and making love in the sky. I thought of how her feet never touched the ground and I felt like a boy again riding my first bike. The feeling, you know, of butterflies flapping in your stomach? Until you crash into a rock, fly over the handlebars, and end up getting twenty stitches in your head.

It's like that with Ford, I thought to myself, walking past his room again. How many times had I passed by his room since I'd gotten up to use the loo? I couldn't sleep and kept _pacing_  by his room and I knew why.

The butterflies followed by the twenty stitches described my history with Ford Prefect perfectly. I'd known him for over ten years and I couldn't honestly say there hadn't been... _something_  there. Between us. 

I didn't know if he _remembered_  all the times we'd drank so much we'd ended up snogging on my doorstep, but he _must_  have, because I knew too well Ford never forgot a thing. I'd often wondered if his alcoholism was somewhat of a _purposeful_  excuse to behave however he pleased. Don't tell me you don't remember Ford, because even though half the things you say make no sense to me, your eyes make _everything_  clear, I thought. I walked by his room again and heard no sounds inside, so I assumed he'd given up on videos and gone to sleep. I considered knocking on the door, but didn't. What would I have said, anyway? "Hey, Ford, you remember that time in the Blue Dog we got thrown out for knocking over a tray of drinks in the throes of--"

The door opened and a bleary-eyed Ford stumbled out. He looked like he sometimes did on mornings on prehistoric Earth. After that intern died he'd felt downright terrible. I tried to comfort him and...

"Ford," I squeaked, lost in memories I'd do well to forget. He grabbed my arm, pulled me into his room, and shut the door. I had barely any time to react. "Ford, what are you--" But I couldn't finish, because before I knew it his lips were on my own. In mid-sentence, mouth open, and his tongue taking advantage of the fact. Two explanations immediately came to mind: either Ford was piss drunk or he had finally realized how he felt about me. 

"Arthur," he hoarsely whispered. It was dark. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel those piercing blue eyes on me. In true Prefect fashion he explained, "I'm piss-drunk, and I've finally realized how I feel about you." 

"I thought it was one of those," I managed to get out before his lips were on mine again. 

"I was..." _Kiss._ "...just..." _Kiss._ "...watching..." _Long kiss._ "...'When Harry Met Sally,' and was thinking of you the entire time."

"How sweet." Creepy, but sweet. "You mean I was Billy Crystal?"

"No, you were Meg Ryan."

Before I could even process this new development, Ford threw me on his bed and was straddling my hips, proceeding to take off my clothes. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I could make out his face. He looked as infuriatingly calm and cool as always; _I_  was shaking like a leaf. I tried to think of Fenchurch, and how I felt, but with her everything was so gentle and calm and _this?_ This was fierce and hard and everything my love for Fenchurch...wasn't. A part of me felt like I needed this, even though it would change everything I'd built with Fenchurch. I wouldn't be able to look her in the eye and tell her I loved her more than anything or anyone ever again. I _hated_  Ford for showing up at my flat that day, piss-drunk and babbling on about...whatever it is he babbles on about. Bugger the dolphins and bugger the meaning of life and Wonko the Sane! I hated him for making me remember.

But through all this my body, naturally, had _no_  concern for affairs of the heart. I was already hard and Ford was already nipping at my throat while his hands rubbed my thighs. Also in true Prefect fashion, his hands just brushed where I wanted them. He was never one for hurrying. Though being with him seemed fast and hurried - like running through a hurricane - he always took his grand bloody time, so much you could just kill him. I put my hand up - the thought being to strangle the bastard - but found myself caressing his face. He just grabbed my wrist and kissed it - every finger. Then he drew himself up so he could look down at me - in my eyes, sky blue locking with mud brown - pushing his hardness against mine. I let out a groan - (what else could I do?) - and hoped Fenchurch wouldn't hear us. 

There came the thoughts again. It would break her heart to know the only man who ever understood her, loving her just for being herself, was sharing everything with this other man - this other man she barely knew and - worse - _I_ barely knew, even after ten years. But then again, how could I possibly think that? Gazing into that sharp blueness, my breath becoming shallow gasps with every thrust of his hips, how could I say I didn't know him when everything was right there plain as the nose on his face?  

I let the thoughts of Fenchurch fade and pulled Ford close for another kiss. His face took on the almost sorrowful expression he often wore when he thought no one was watching. What could he be thinking? Did it even matter? Now?

My body was on autopilot. Before I knew it, my shoes were gone. How did _that_ happen? Shirt, trousers...It was like my mind was erasing the details. There were gaps - frames of some student film missing. Ford was naked then, bringing back memories of tired, muggy days on prehistoric Earth. I turned so I could run my hands over his back and chest, kissing his smooth skin. Betelgeusian skin - assuming all were like him - was slick, not like human skin at all. Our bodies rubbing together, Ford flashing that ridiculous grin, everything felt right. Fenchurch was thousands of light years away. I thought I'd just drop dead pressing against him and be done with it, signed and sealed. Then Ford's hands wandered down between my legs - still holding me with laughing eyes - and began stroking me with skilled fingers. I lay back - (the ceiling was an odd avocado green for a spaceship) - and groaned, hands gripping his shoulders just to hold on. I could hear a husky voice then, and at first I thought it was my own mind, but hot breath hit my ear. 

"It's too late to turn back now, luv." 

I tried asking him what he meant, but it came out as an unintelligible grunt. Ford stopping stroking. I think I moaned a "please" but Ford turned my head so he could look directly at me. 

"Arthur, you know how I feel about you, don't you?"

His question had a tone of...finality to it. I nodded.

"I know we haven't seen much of each other since Krikket, and I know I haven't acted like it, but..."

I nodded again, dumbly. If he didn't resume stroking in about five seconds, I thought, I'd have to finish for him. 

He smiled. "Nah, I don't need to tell you. You may be dumb, but you're not blind."

Still insulting me, the git. But I nodded again and kissed him. It seemed the right thing to do. At last, he resumed stroking... 

After I'd come, I couldn't help but feel guilty over what had just happened. Kissing him deeply, I reassured myself that it couldn't be wrong if it felt this right. No, it couldn't be.

Could it?

  

* * *

 

Hours later, once Ford was asleep, I returned to my room. Fenchurch was there, still asleep. She looked so beautiful. I knew it was trite, but she looked like an angel. That was the only way to possibly describe it. As if the thought itself weren't trite enough, my eyes grew damp. I felt a tear slide down my cheek and hit her pillow. 

"Arthur," she murmured.

She knew. She knew and she hated me. 

"Arthur, come to bed." She waved a hand at me and caught my sleeve. I sat down on the side of the bed and caressed her hair. 

"Shh, go back to sleep, Fenny."

"Arthur," she said, eyes still closed and half-asleep. "I love you." 

Her words made me feel worse. 

"Fenny, can I ask you something?"

She nodded drowsily, smiling. 

"Would you still love me, even if...even if I did something terrible?"

"Of course," she said. I smiled and kissed her forehead. 

"Thank you, Fenchurch." 

I think she fell asleep, then, before I could even tell her I loved her back. Maybe it was better that way.

  

* * *

 

The next day, Ford acted as though nothing had happened. The twenty stitches part I mentioned? That came after the butterflies? That was it. There we sat in the ship's mini-kitchen, a fine mess of three. My lovers were politely conversing over a polite morning - or what passed for morning at least - meal. I couldn't stand it. I looked at Ford, looked at her, and felt even more rotten than I had the previous night, if that was at all possible. 

"Excuse me," I said, fleeing the room. Two pairs of feet bounded down the corridor after me. 

"What is it?" Fenchurch asked. "What's wrong?"

I looked at Ford, and Fenchurch followed my gaze. He shrugged. "I don't know." I glared at him. 

"You know certainly well what's wrong."

He returned the look. "Arthur, not now."

"What? What not now?" Fenchurch asked, puzzled.

"Nothing," Ford said. "It's nothing. He had a rough night is all."

 _"Rough night?"_ I squeaked. I couldn't help it. When I got emotional, my voice cracked. "Rough night. Oh, yes, rough night indeed!"

Fenchurch looked concerned. "Arthur, tell me what's wrong. Ford, what is he talking about?"

I snapped, "Oh, nothing, nothing at all, just that there's a little something I never told you about, Fenny."

Ford began leaving the corridor. "Forget this, Arthur."

I was shouting now. "Forget? _Forget?_ Of course, just because my life is perfect and I'm finally happy, you have to barge in and complicate everything again."

"Arthur, don't--"

"Fenchurch, he and I -- that man, alien, person right there -- We were lovers, see? And last night...last night..." I trailed off. The damage was done. 

Fenchurch didn't cry, or shout, or anything. 

"You...slept together, didn't you?" she choked. She looked down at her feet - the same beautiful feet that never touched the ground. "Excuse me," she said, and exited. Ford leaned against the wall and sighed.

"I still don't understand you humans. Always telling the bloody truth." 

I leaned beside him. "I felt so guilty, Ford."

Ford looked at me and said, solemnly, "Then why did you do it?"

I had no answer; I wasn't sure why.

"It just felt...right," I muttered. 

"Just because something _feels_  right doesn't mean it is."

I looked at him, surprised. "I thought you were all for doing whatever you liked."

"I've never been in a situation like this, Arthur. I've had relationships before, but they were never really serious." A sort of sorrowful expression crossed his face then, and I couldn't help but wish he'd stayed with me on Krikket. But that, of course, wouldn't have been logical. Ford was a wanderer. He needed to go wherever oppurtunities took him, and didn't deserve to be stuck with one pathetic human all his life. A human so pathetic he freely tossed aside the love of the only woman who had ever understood him, and loved him for just being himself. 

I knew what I had to do, then. I had to forget about it and move on, repairing things with Fenchurch.

"Ford, can you just drop us off at the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains?"

He nodded, then asked, "How will you get back to Earth?"

I thought about it for a bit, then replied, "We'll find a way."

  

* * *

  

So that was it. We arrived at the mountain, and with no way to contact him, it seemed likely we'd never see Ford again. But I could get Fenchurch to trust me, eventually, and things between us would return to the way they were.  

My mind was still stuck on the fact I'd probably be losing the man I loved forever. 

"Go talk to her," he told me, gesturing to a sullen Fenchurch.  

So I did. At first she wouldn't say anything. The words came later. She was angry, disappointed, but she still loved me. A while later, she said she could understand. Twenty stitches and all that. It was an understatement to say I was relieved.

Ford left and I told myself to forget him, but knew I never would. So after we waved goodbye, I squeezed Fenchurch's hand and gave her a reassuring smile. That chapter of my life was closed, and the following pages would be reserved for her and her alone. 


End file.
